2. In that chill, star-shot stable where a child was laid by his girl mother in cold straw (A white rose blooming in the stubble field Of our barrenness) I heard those moon-struck shepherds from the hills Muttering of angel prophets and of peace, Of a great dawn at midnight, singing skies, (Hallucinations born of loneliness). I saw them bow themselves among the beasts Crouching among the oxen worshipping. - I spoke in friendly fashion to the girl: "Your baby has such lovely eyes - his father's?" And turned back to the city.

3. It was I Who on the barren hill called Golgotha (As bare it is as water polished bone) Saw the white figure writhe against the sky as wax twists under flame; And thought: "A petty criminal, no doubt, How barbarous our laws." In casual compassion watched a while, And turned back to the road.

Janet W. Boatner (1931-1979) held a doctorate in medieval English literature and taught classes in fiction at Foothill College in Los Altos Hills, California.

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